


A Minor Role in the Repertoire of A Well-Versed and Broadly-Traveled Performer

by gen_is_gone



Category: Doctor Who, eighth doctor adventures - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, at this specific moment i don't hate my writing even tho i know this is far from my best, day one-role swap, eightfitzweek2017, in the spirit of actually finishing something i'm posting this as is, so have some inane fluff, unbeta'd nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gen_is_gone/pseuds/gen_is_gone
Summary: A snippet of unfinished fluff for Eight/Fitz week 2017. This is (several days late) for Day One: role swap.





	A Minor Role in the Repertoire of A Well-Versed and Broadly-Traveled Performer

Fitz has come to the sudden and unpleasant realization that he may just possibly be out of his depth. 

The Doctor'd hared off down one bit of corridor and he'd gone down another, splitting up to search for a particular Holy Relic of the Order of Whatever that the Doctor had been absolutely convinced was a cleverly-fashioned plastic explosive, positioned within the Jaastritese Imperial Temple by a sect with designs on the Emperor's life. As it turns out, the little statue Fitz'd found was _not_ a plastic explosive, and the sonic containment field meant to prevent it knocking a sizable hole in the grounds of the Palace of Emperors had not as protective as the Doctor had claimed. He's got three chunks of perfectly ordinary, bloody old pottery in his hands, and sirens screaming fit to burst an eardrum that have been cheerfully wailing since he'd pulled the thing off its perch five minutes ago. And then security shows up. 

He's really too used to this to even be properly annoyed, and too keyed up by the sirens and the almost-getting-blown-up-except-as-it-turns-out-not-really to be particularly scared, but he is a little weary of this, and thus arguably temporarily unbalanced. It probably explains what happens next.

Security crashes into the temple's inner sanctum with all of the gormless lack of gusto one expects from rent-a-soldiers who signed on for the dental and a job out of the sun. They've got some kind of ray-gun, the sort he might've found cool if it wasn't being shoved halfway up his nose. He notices that, and also that the guards' boots are a really absurd colour of red. Nothing too off about the rest of their getup, but red boots, for whatever reason. That's something the Doctor would probably be delighted by, he muses absently. Imperial Guards with whimsical footwear. 

More's the point, there's no Doctor to be found. He abruptly becomes aware of the sonic in one hand and the broken statue in the other, the ringing in his ears and the guns in his face, and with all due appreciation of the irony of the situation, opens his stupid mouth.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor."

It's probably not the most outrageous part he's ever played. 

\---

This is going far easier than he'd expected, and that annoys him. If nothing else, these soldiers ought to be fired for gross incompetence, if not brought up on charges. One bloke waltzes into their oh-so-secret transference chamber, breaks their bitty statue and then has the audacity to start accusing them of lack of reverence for a made-up dignitary, and the ninnies go right along with it. Have none of them ever seen a heist film?

Fitz's been having some fun just pressing his luck, seeing how big a pack of lies they'll swallow. The poor young sod's been guiding him around the ground, a constable called Gilbert, has been nodding earnestly along to every word, forehead shiny as much from nerves as the summer heat. He's bumped himself up from royal examiner to the Emperor's bastard son, and they'd fallen over themselves to show him everywhere he'd demanded. So far a tour of the Imperial gardens, the Observatory, and the Kitchens (Lesser and Greater) had yet to reveal any clue as to the real Doctor's whereabouts, but the lack of generalized mayhem has led Fitz to believe that they're either incognito or unconscious. Three guesses as to the more likely, and the first two don't count. 

Doctor Fitzwilliam Gerhardt (the second) imperiously demands a tour of the palace guardhouse and its few cells, where any unruly subjects might be held until an armoured hovercar can be brought along to cart them off to prison. Constable Gilbert obliges, sweating all the while. 

The guardhouse is a nice one, by Fitz's well-experienced standards. No rats, good lighting, not too bad of a stink from too many working men all living in close quarters. He does dock another point for the conspicuous beer bottles lying about however; they clearly don't see much action here, but drinking on the job is just asking for some clever thief to come and divest the royals of their valuables, or worse, their heads. 

"We've only got the one prisoner in sir," pipes up the soon-to-be hapless Gilbert. "We run a tight ship, and the criminal sorts know better than to take a crack at us. There's just the one madman in tonight, as you can see."

The word "madman" inevitably causes Fitz to perk up, and lo and behold, in the farthest cell to the back of the house, lying peacefully on a cot shoved against the far wall, is the Doctor, coat neatly folded beneath their head, hands across stomach, looking more at home than the guards themselves. Of course. A cunning plan then occurs to him. 

"What the hell is this?!" he cries, pushing even further into Full Blown Toff mode. "A common thief was able to breach these noble walls?" Gilbert shrinks back in sudden alarm, and within the cell the Doctor's eyebrows raise, almost imperceptibly, though their eyes remain calmly shut. Fitz smirks to himself and pushes on. 

"You dare to call yourselves the guards of my father, our Emperor, and bring such disgrace upon yourselves?" Gilbert whimpers.

"We've caught the layabout, Doct-"

"That's not enough! If one has breached the walls, more will follow! You have already failed our great Emperor, and no amount of punishment after the deed is done will undo the deed itself. I should have my father line up the lot of you to be shot!"

The poor man's nearly pissing himself, it's too funny. But Fitz relents, so as to reflect the graciousness of a nobleman. 

"Get a hold of yourself, man," (he's always wanted to say that). He heaves a theatrical and long-suffering sigh. "Give me this louse, and I'll dispose of the wastrel myself." Gilbert, who's honest-to-shag quaking in his silly red boots, sags with relief. 

"Of course, my Lord Doctor Fitzwilliam," he says. He fumbles for the keys, and Fitz tries not to look too eager as the door swings open, the Doctor still feigning sleep inside. 

"I've studied all sorts of madness on my travels throughout the Empire," he claims. "My knowledge of the maladies of the mind surpasses any other man's, and I can tell just at a glance what might ail a poor criminal like this fellow." A small quirk of the Doctor's lips. They're amused, he can tell. 

"Oh yes," he continues expansively, "Clearly to have attempted to breach these palace walls a great disturbance of the mind, a feverish humour, must have come upon our prisoner." Was that a chuckle? 

"To have left the safety of a perfectly good dwelling within the city to pursue a non-existent mystery must have required a passing spell of idiocy, a fuzziness of the brainpan," and catches the Doctor frowning a bit, but he's having far too much fun to care. 

"Oh yes, surely only the greatest of fools would get themselves captured over a quest so stupid-ow!" The Doctor flicked a pebble at his head.

"Well, no matter. _The point is_ , I'll just take our prisoner, shall I?" Fitz manages, and sticks out his tongue behind Gilbert's back, to which the Doctor rolls their eyes, but obligingly. 

"Up, layabout," Gilbert snaps, and feigning befuddled innocence, the Doctor hops to their feet, presenting their wrists for the handcuffs the constable locks with a dependable snik. Fitz then none-to-gently takes them by one elbow and hustles them both out of the cell and back the way came, thinking calm and non-suspicious thoughts all the while. 

"Well played, Lord Doctor Fitzwilliam," the Doctor chuckles under their breath, and Fitz can honestly feel his ears burning, but maybe with as much pride as embarrassment. He grins and spares them a dashing wink. "Naught but a trifle for such an adventurer as meself, sirrah. No role is too grand, or too mean." 

 

…Of course, about halfway to Gilbert's hovercar the man gets a call in on his comm unit warning about two dangerous con artists claiming relation to the Emperor, and then as usual they're legging it back to the TARDIS just as fast as their two wildly different-sized sets of legs can carry them.


End file.
